


The Be Useful Protocol

by ChildOfSin



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Beating, Blood, Failed Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Gore, Lack of Free Will, M/M, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Sexual Violence, Violence, corrupted memories, minor wire play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChildOfSin/pseuds/ChildOfSin
Summary: After the failed revolution, Markus was sure he would be destroyed, killed, and recycled. By pure luck, Leo Manfred, now the rightful heir to all of Carl Manfred's earthly possessions, decides he has no use for a deviated android and puts him up for sale on the black market - and whole year later, Markus still hates the man he was sold to.On the opposite side of their dynamic, Perkins was still fairly pleased with his recent purchase.





	The Be Useful Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> So obviously I don't condone any of this but I wrote it anyway. There aren't enough fanfic of Perkins (that fuckin prick) and also obviously I put Markus in there as well because he is my favorite and we all know what fic writers do to their faves. (ᅌᴗᅌ✿)
> 
> Thanks so much to my bestie who helped me with Perkins' characterization because I didn't know the first thing about him.

“RK200. Come here.”

Markus had been idling in the kitchen ever since Perkins got home. Cleaning dishes extra slowly, drowning out the sounds of the television as _The Owner_ settled in for the night. He didn’t know the politics of what happened at the precinct today, didn’t care either. He didn’t care about much anything anymore. It had been almost a year. A year of forced servitude, a year of nothing but this house, his chores and his own corrupted memories, what little of them remained. He was going absolutely stir crazy, if androids could even accomplish that. If he could get away with it, he did things as slowly as possible, took up as much menial time for menial tasks to drown out the existence of being nothing more than a machine.

Snippets of memory came back occasionally, not more than a few seconds or a few lines of dialogue, but he knew he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be this depressed, shouldn’t be this tired, shouldn’t feel so stuck.

“Hey. I’m _talking to you._ **Come.”**

Still, Markus worked on dishes he could put in the dishwasher. It would be faster, but then he’d be forced to stand still, stall there waiting for orders after his final chore was done. Or, worse still, wait until Perkins noticed him and got bored with watching TV to take out his workplace frustrations out on his android.

**His** android.  
His _possession_.  
_**His.**_

The thought left Markus stiff, a deeper part of him knowing damn well he was worth more than he was being treated.

  
Markus had the full intention to finish drying the dish in hand before following orders, exercising the full extent of the free range he’d been given. As little as it was, it was leaps and bounds more than any other house droid. The TV suddenly shut off and Markus stiffened as two words hit his filter.

  
“Code Yellow.”

  
The plate, once firmly in his hands, shattered over his nice dress shoes, forgotten by the sudden verbal override, but he was already halfway across the floor before he had time to notice. The next five seconds were a blur, no amount of struggle or fight could stop the red wall behind him from pushing him forth, or the barriers on either side from guiding him where he was ordered to be moments prior.

  
It’s like waking up for the first time as the coded warning fades, leaving him staring expectantly down. How did he get here? He couldn’t in good faith remember. The fact that his owner was half a foot smaller than he was and sitting down did not help matters.

  
Silently, he waited, but didn’t have to wait long.  
Perkins was nothing if not impatient.

  
_“Be useful.”_

  
Another set of trigger words, dropping Markus to his knees with a thunk. Even as he leant forward, eyes half lidded at the command and teeth on Perkins' zipper, he couldn’t believe it was happening again. Then again, anything could happen now, couldn’t it?

  
After the revolution had been shut down, Leo had been ecstatic about getting his hands on **THE** revolutionary leader, been so happy that his dad’s (their dad’s) will hadn’t ever been found, even. No matter if he’d read it before, read that Markus would have owned himself in the event that Carl died – no one could prove he’d seen it, or had anything to do with its disappearance. And no one could stop him from selling his property. If the rights to his own person didn’t exist, then the android would belong to the next human of kin, one Leo Manfred.  
One Leo Manfred, who was more than eager to put anything not immediately necessary on the black market in exchange for red ice.  
The dick that sprang out was almost like a slap, hitting him in the face with its eagerness and drawing him from his inner thoughts. Markus didn’t look up, knowing Perkins would be staring down at him with those knowing eyes, those vulture, predatory eyes that suggested he wasn’t even sorry for what he was putting Markus through. Those eyes that were waiting for a response, for a denial, for insolence he could punish further.

  
Folders opened, folders he was painfully used to, labeled only as Eden Protocol. When he’d first woken up, it had confused him, thumbing through his code. As if a new limb had been grafted to his form and he was trying to figure out how to use it. They hadn’t been there before, a distant, drowning part of him reminding him he hadn’t always a house slave.  
He might have been considered lucky his hair was so close cropped -- Perkins having a hard time figuring out where to put his hands as Markus worked. Tongue fluttered on the underside of his shaft, alternating between suction and friction, as much as he hated to do so. What had once been useful for deciding whether a meal was too sweet or too spicy was his downfall, the salt of the human sweat overloading his sensors. There was sudden tugging at the fabric on his shoulders, sudden intense pressure, and if he had been human there would be telltale bruises in the morning. _The Owner_ gave an excited thrust, hitting the back of the android’s throat and Markus gave pause, wondering if he would be quick and done with it or draw it out as much as he could to torture his android.

  
It would most likely be the latter.

  
For as long as he’d been there, he’d been the point of the agent’s ire. Not completely remembering what he could have done, or be able to act out and defend himself past the thick red walls, Markus would take it in stride; Stay standing until his systems shut down from the extent of the damage. Stasis, as it was, was much more of a known thing for the RK200 than it was for most other household androids. Then again, household androids weren’t modded for abuse or still allowed acts of small deviancy to keep things interesting. His memory might have been corrupted, but Markus could take a hint. Perkins hated androids, and as a result, hated Markus.

  
_The Owner_ was smart, the RK knew as much from what he could glean from overheard phone conversations or scanned documents. Shot to the top of his class like nothing was holding him back, and had been the sole spearhead that took down the android rebellion last November.

  
Markus wished he could have been there. Androids, fighting for their freedom. It sounded like a utopia, no orders given, no red walls, no humans. Jealousy of what might have been, what could have been had him stutter to a halt, but a warning growl above spurred him back on.

  
**Objective . . .**  
**> Be Useful**

  
Jarred from his thoughts by another hard thrust, the android on his knees could tell _The Owner_ was getting bored. He was stalling, focusing too much on one thing, not enough on another. If he wanted to get back to cleaning, get the sharp plate shards off the floor before he was damaged again for causing bleeding human feet, he had better keep working.  
As much as he hated the taste, the android worked the cock in his mouth like it was the last sucker on the planet, humming around it to bring his owner to end. The protocols were at least helpful that he knew what to do in the Be Useful scenario, since he would be useless without them.

  
It felt like forever that he sat there, lapping at the agent’s member like an excited kitten, but he could tell he wasn’t doing enough.

  
The human, as relaxed as he was, wasn’t going to let his glorified Roomba go without him fulfilling his purpose, but this was getting boring. Idly, fingers danced their way up to behind the android’s ear, picking at an empty space. The cover, long forgotten, was lying in pieces somewhere, the location slipping Richard’s mind. Though, much more interestingly, there were _wires_ behind that panel.

_Important_ wires.

  
Ill-matched eyes shot open in surprise as one was tugged, almost enough to pull free from the dreaded red walls. That one was important – that one specifically -- he could tell, since the pinky it was wound around was almost insistent it pull free from its plug. Other wires, tugged almost like hair, were parted and toyed with, but the one that he was most worried about (worried? Androids didn’t feel worry) was green. Important signals between limbs and processor, signals he needed to bring his ever personable master to happiness.  
Another hum, almost like it was made into a question, and the wire popped free.

  
Damage messages popped up in his vision and Markus almost missed the way his jaw clenched, the way Perkins yelped.

  
The way his teeth tensed and clamped down around the most delicate thing in the entire apartment.

  
Immediately shoved as the human yelped in pain. Markus lost his balance and tipped back into the coffee table. Magazines and newspapers fluttered around him as the agent curled in on himself on the couch, hands holding his dick.

  
“GAH!”

  
If the RK’s LED wasn’t red before, it sure was now.

  
“You fucking _bitch!_ You _bit_ me! What did I say?”

  
Technically, he had initiated the Be Useful Protocol, but never said to knee jerk react when a wire was yanked. But of course, things happen in their household – in PERKINS’ household -- and Markus bit his tongue instead of bringing this to light. He was in enough trouble as it is, and he’d rather not walk around with only one working arm like last week after accidentally breaking a lamp.

  
The android could practically see the smoke rising from _The Owner_ as he surged off the couch, grabbing his android by the bowtie to yank him off the floor.  
Repeating himself as he stood, heaving in fury, Perkins yelled.

  
“What did I say?”

  
Forced into a response, Markus said the first thing on his mind.

  
“You said—"

  
“I said _be fucking useful,_ not _bite me._ **Stand.”**

  
Still in code yellow, Markus had little to no choice and did so, hands in apprehensive fists at his sides.

  
Perkins’ own fist soon met him in the stomach, and it was all the butler could do to stay standing. He hadn’t been ready, even if the man telegraphed his punches and this was a regular occurrence. Then again he hit, this time higher. Aiming for his thirium pump. How would a human who barely understood androids know where it was? He’d seen it a lot, a fractured memory supplied, and he was punched again, stumbling against the wall. Another warning message, another damage report, and his head was cracked aside. As much as he was being damaged, Perkins’ knuckles couldn’t have felt any better. Blue and red mingled as the man went for one of his eyes, vision going hazy on one side from the strike.

  
**Objective**  
**~~> Be Useful~~ **  
**> Don’t Fight Back**

  
A part of the RK jolted at the new directive, suddenly no longer in a domestic setting. Paint cans and clay sculptures surrounded him, only lit up in the night by big working lights. A young male, suddenly in front, pushed him. Insulted him. Beyond, an elder male begged for them to stop, and yet Markus did nothing. How could he? The red walls were – no – they – they – how had he broken the wall so easily before? They were never this thin, never this few, never this easy, never went down without –  
Jerked from the first clear memory he’d had in a full year by the sound of a crash, Markus realized he was once again in the living room, making way for the shattered coffee table beneath him. Vision dark on one side, warning messages flooded his remain vision. After swiping them away, he noticed his leg had been impaled by a wooden shard. Staring, dazed, he almost didn’t hear the command above him.

  
“Open.”

  
Open... what?

  
**Your mouth** – another folder, almost forced on him, had his jaw moving without his accord.

  
The human was on him like a hound in seconds, ramming his dick to the back of his throat and further. Fingers curled in his mouth at the sides, like the human was afraid he’d bite again. Like he was trying to hurt something that didn’t feel pain. A smaller, less prominent folder opened and it had him gagging, eyes wide. He didn’t need air – did he? Did androids need air? It felt like it, it felt like he was dying, suffocating as angry pressing hands held the back of his head and frantic balls slapped his chin. There was no finesse here, no need for him to participate when _The Owner_ had clearly gotten so riled up from their one sided fight and was determined to do it himself.

  
He didn’t last as long when it was punishment and not just a task to be carried out, and for that Markus was thankful, mind wandering again.

  
He’d heard reports of deviants on the news, overhearing conversations held by _The Owner_. How they felt real emotions, felt anger, sadness, love, loss, felt real fear –

  
Something, wound tight inside him snapped, and were he able, Markus would have reared up and socked _The Owne_ — **Richard** with a closed fist, as hard as he possibly could. He realized he hated this, hated the house, hated the chores and the memory gaps and the red walls that reared back up at him like hydra heads. Hated Richard – with every fibre of his being.

  
Servos whirred audibly, clicking and buzzing in their damage and for almost the first time, the RK noticed his spine had been impaled as well.

  
The jagged wooden shard poked up from his chest like a blue painted Christmas tree, but Richard paid no mind.

  
**_ERROR** , his vision supplied uselessly, **_SEEK THIRIUM INTAKE**

  
Pinned, not unlike a bug in a display, the thick wooden table kept him stable on the floor as Perkins finished, burying himself deep past the android’s limits. He stood there, reveling in his dominance over the machine, only withdrawing until he was soft.

  
“Men hate what they can’t understand,” an elderly voice filtered in, almost like a ghost around him. Markus floated and bled on the carpet, just thinking.

  
Did Perkins understand Markus? **REALLY** understand him? He couldn’t have, taking his android’s sanity with him as he zipped up his pants and stalked out of the room.

  
From the other room, he heard _The Owner’s_ voice, calm as if he hadn’t just brutally damaged a nine thousand dollar machine.

  
“Hey. It’s me.”

  
Lying there, Markus let his head fall back on the remains of the coffee table.

  
“I need a repairman.”

 


End file.
